


fracture-filled

by Amber (orphan_account)



Category: Captain Planet and the Planeteers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, M/M, Male!Linka, Porn Battle, Rule 63, The Power of Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 15:07:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Amber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a softness when Linka looks at him, a flaw amidst all that sparkling perfection, and one day Wheeler plans to find it and shatter his little Russian world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fracture-filled

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle XIV for the prompts "alternate universe, dirty talk, broken, virginity". Warnings: Linka is implied to possibly have some kind of sexual trauma in his background.
> 
> The AU aspect is purely sex-swap. Linka is male, Kwamee is female, Ma-Ti is genderqueer. It's also a little more modern-day? I kind of mentally rebooted the Captain Planet universe in my head a while ago, and now I've gone and written really serious porn for it, so I'm sorry about that.

Linka is like a diamond. He is gleaming perfection. He wears a vest and a fashionable cravat. His shoes are always neatly polished. His skin is flawlessly pale, his white-blonde hair falls in thick bangs into his eyes, and his cheekbones are sharp as a knife. While the rest of the teens stand there in their t-shirts and shorts, Gi with her messy ponytail, Ma-Ti with hir Crocs and Kwamee in a loose tank top and a sports bra, Linka looks as though he's stepped straight from some sort of catalogue or magazine. Wheeler doesn't want to admit that sometimes he's envious, of the ways Linka is so finely pieced together.

But there are times when Linka is ruffled. Times when he's crumpled, windswept and exhausted, forward into Wheeler's arms, and Wheeler's felt his heart skip.

"Hey, babe, you shouldn't push yourself so hard," he tells Linka, easy-going. Brushes his fingers briefly through that fine blond hair.

Linka pulls himself away from Wheeler and straightens, shoulders stiff as an angry cat. "Shall I be as lazy as you, Yankee? _Nyet_. Do not take so many liberties."

But Wheeler doesn't miss the way those blue-green eyes linger on him. There's a softness when Linka looks at him, a flaw amidst all that sparkling perfection, and one day Wheeler plans to find it and shatter his little Russian world.

What he doesn't expect is for the hammer to fall on a kiss. They've just barely escaped from danger yet again, and the latest set of bad guys are being rounded up by the other planeteers. Linka is, once again, disheveled, and the relief in his face is painful to look at directly, like the sun.

"You idiot! _Bozhe moy_ , I thought you were dead for sure," he snaps at Wheeler, slapping lightly at his bicep.

Wheeler laughs and drapes his arm across slender shoulders, because his lungs still itch from the smoke and he needs to catch his breath. Linka freezes, always so wary of touch in ways that Wheeler (remembering his father flinging empty bottles of beer at the war) kind of worries about. They all live together, fight together, but do any of them really know each other?

"Hey," he murmurs, turning their bodies towards each other. "Just me, babe."

Linka relaxes a little at that, and looks up into his face — he's a couple of inches shorter than Wheeler, it's cute. He's still scowling, and, well, that's kinda cute too. "Why is it you do that? Always call me "babe"."

"You _are_ a babe," Wheeler says cheerfully. "I call 'em like I see 'em, that's all."

"American slang for women," Linka scoffs. "And children. I am neither."

"American slang for hot stuff," Wheeler corrects him, with an amused smile. He's not even hanging there anymore, their arms about each other far more like an embrace. He's very aware of every warm press of their bodies, the line of Linka's slender muscle under his well-tailored clothes.

"Perhaps it is I who should be calling you the babe," Linka says, with a hint of a smirk. "Are you not, after all, the fire-man?"

"Yeah," says Wheeler, intent written clear as he moves in close. "I'm the hottest."

There's always been a spark between them. But fire only needs one good gust to ignite it, and within moments they're clutching at each other, the kiss deepening as Linka relaxes his jaw and lets Wheeler's tongue sweep through his mouth. They both kinda taste a bit like the chemical smoke they'd been surrounded by, but that doesn't stop them thoroughly exploring each other's mouths, learning the shape of each tooth, all the soft places and the ways their noses rub together as they kiss.

"Wow," Wheeler breathes when he draws back. There's barely a gap between Linka's mouth and his, and he realizes with a flush that at some point he'd dragged his hands all the way down to rest lightly above Linka's ass. The oher man doesn't seem to much mind, though, one hand wound through Wheeler's shaggy red hair.

"Wow indeed," he echoes. Glances down, away, and only then does Wheeler notice that he's trembling finely.

"Hey," he says softly, and laces their fingers together. "You know I'd never force you to do anything you didn't want to do. I mean, what kind of Planeteer would I be if I didn't respect your, uh," he casts his mind back to the stuff he read on Gi's Tumblr. "Your bodily autonomy?"

"I am just glad you are all right, Wheeler," Linka says, squeezing his hand and then drawing back entirely, attempting to fix his hair, straighten the line of his clothes. It's too late: he looks thoroughly disreputable, and his mouth is kiss-bitten, his eyes a little glazed.

"Does that mean we're not gonna do that again?" Wheeler asks, a bit thrown by the fact that he hadn't called him Yankee. Linka casts him a scornful look, and his heart drops for a moment, a physical sensation akin to actual falling. Until, that is, Linka grabs him and pulls him in for another, much briefer kiss.

"We are going to do _that_ plenty," he informs him primly. "Come now. Our friends will not know where we have gotten to."

Plenty. But maybe not plenty enough. Sometimes they make out for hours. Sometimes even a casual arm around the shoulders can make Linka turn all uptight. Wheeler doesn't know how to get him to talk about it, and he doesn't know if it's okay to ask the other Planeteers for advice. Or maybe Linka's already talked about it with them, and Wheeler's the only one left out? Sometimes he feels kinda like the fifth wheel, especially when Gi talks about privilege and the ease of the lives of straight white American males compared to the rest of the world. Not that he's straight anymore. Or whatever. That's really a can of worms he doesn't want to open. He's comfortable without defining his sexuality. And maybe Linka's comfortable without explaining why he wants to take it slow.

Wheeler's always been neurosis wrapped in a kind of James Dean cool, and in a relationship it's no different. So sometimes it hurts, when Linka stops him or makes excuses to leave, but most of the times he reminds himself of the way that sultry accent groans his name and how Linka's delicate hands _grip_ at him, the way even their regular hot-cold banter has a new layer of flirtation, and he gets his confidence back. Whatever Linka's deal is, it's personal, and he's just gotta be supportive.

"If only I could borrow your power, little buddy," he tells Ma-Ti fondly. Zie just laughs and pets Suchi, who chatters something Ma-Ti seems to agree with.

"We all have the power of heart, Wheeler," Ma-Ti says to him, placing one of hir hands on hir own chest, right where it would be. "That's what love is."

"Hey, hey, who said anything about love?" laughs Wheeler nervously. "Come on, let's not keep Gaia waiting."

It takes six months of snatched kisses and patience before Linka climbs into his bunk in nothing more than tight cotton briefs. Dazed with sleep, Wheeler lets his t-shirt be pulled over his head, tosses his head back at the feel of a mouth over his freckled chest.

"Mm," Linka murmurs, running his hands over Wheeler's muscular abdomen. "I have made a decision."

"Uh huh?" Wheeler asks, gasping a little at the sensation of weight in his lap and tongue on his neck.

"Don't you want to know what my decision is, Wheeler?" Linka teases, kissing up to his ear. He chuckles there, husky, nosing at messy red hair as he draws the lobe between his teeth and makes Wheeler whine.

"Uh huh?" he says again, and this time Linka laughs properly. He leans back, pushing a splayed hand against Wheeler's bare chest, teeth gleaming white and joyful in the dim light.

"You are sometimes so very easy, _babe_ ," he teases, rubbing his ass against the growing erection in Wheeler's thin sweatpants. "This is what you have been wanting, is it not? I am going to let you fuck me." Wheeler thinks he might die. He feels a flush in his face, though who the hell knows how he has enough blood in his body to blush _and_ be this damn hard, and Linka chuckles again and pats his cheek. "I am going," he says with slow, clear enunciation, "To let you slick me open, and then I will sink down over your big, luscious dick and let you fill my virgin asshole."

"Holy shit," breathes Wheeler, dizzy with the image, the matching sensation of Linka grinding over him. "Have you been reading Gi's fanfic or something?"

"Da," Linka says, and slides back so he can use his hands instead. "It has proven most elucidatory."

"How come you can manage 'elucidatory' but not 'yes'," Wheeler asks, because picking on Linka's vocabulary is built into his bones, and it's better to focus on his word-choices than the way his slender fingers are stroking Wheeler. He uses one hand, jerks him slowly and precisely, twisting over the head. "If you keep that up I'm not gonna last."

"It's good?" he asks.

Wheeler groans. "Maybe not so hard," he replies. It's the only criticism he can actually think of: Linka is working him like a pro, and it feels so damn good to have someone else's hand on his junk for once.

"I m not used to, ah, having not so much skin to work with," Linka admits, a little sheepishly, and Wheeler just about chokes at the realization that he's talking about his own dick, that Linka's uncut and used to mostly jerking himself off and, god if that isn't the hottest image. His abdomen flexes as he curls up, reaches for the back of Linka's neck, and pulls him in for a sloppy kiss. Linka freezes again, and for a moment Wheeler kicks himself thinking he's pushed too far and they're done here, but after a beat, two, Linka's mouth opens and his hand picks up the same steady pace again and they keep going as if they never stopped.

Afterwards, Linka is rumpled and messy, sweaty hair every which-way, and Wheeler traces his fingers through the come spattered over that pale skin as they curl together tightly in the cramped bed.

"You know," he admits, "I always kinda thought I'd be the one to take you apart."

"I have been taken apart many times," Linka murmurs, a little chastising, a little distant. That's the most he's ever said on the subject, maybe the most he'll ever say. "Your job is to hold me as I put myself back together."

"Well now, no problem. I can do that," says Wheeler easily, and wraps his arms right around Linka's waist, and snuggles them down to sleep. Maybe he understands what Ma-Ti was talking about after all.


End file.
